


REM Cycle

by RedSummerRose



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Gen, Post Civil War, Wanda Maximoff Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2018-08-15 07:47:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8048224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedSummerRose/pseuds/RedSummerRose
Summary: Sleep can be affected by so many things. A Civil War fic in Wanda's perspective.





	REM Cycle

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first 'long' fic I've written in months. But Civil War left me with a ton of Wanda feels, and I had to get them out somewhere.

Wanda can’t remember the last time she had a decent night’s sleep.

It wasn’t after the incident in Lagos. She tossed and turned for nights on end, hearing pundits call her a monster, a weapon, even after the TV was turned off.  She’d curl up on her bed or the lounge’s couch with novels, only sleeping when her eyes were too heavy to keep open. There was always a blanket on her in the morning, but she was never sure who left it for her.

It wasn’t when she was a prisoner in the compound, watched over by Vision. He tried to make the situation better, but it hardly helped. The nights would stretch out before her, and Wanda would try her best to doze off again, but it never really worked. Her team was pulling itself apart at the seams, and without being able to help, it was easy to blame herself for the schism. Clint came with another chance to fix what she’d done, another opportunity to make amends. She took it, and tried to ignore the pain she felt at harming Vision.

* * *

 

Chaos and catastrophe, those were Wanda’s skill sets. Vizh was not like that, and she hated having to fight him. It ended badly, it always did.

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

 

* * *

The Raft didn’t count. Drugs designed to make her docile and detached from reality did not count as sleep. It was almost like HYDRA, but now she didn’t have Pietro to ground her. She was alone, _again._ If she tried to get comfortable, tried to move more than an inch, the guards would give her a rather rude wake up call.  A necessary evil for a dangerous threat, Ross called it, over the protests of her teammates.

She wasn’t an Avenger anymore. Just a threat. That hurt more than she would admit.

The days blurred together in a nebulous cloud of half-consciousness and hallucinations, punctuated by the steady beep of her collar. Clint and Sam checked in on her, Scott hummed under his breath, but if pressed, Wanda couldn’t have told them what they said.

She remembered the rescue though. Flashing lights and the sound of fighting, vibrations in the metal floor alerting her to scuffles outside the cells.

It was Steve who rescued them, but it was Clint who got her out of her cell. At first, Wanda couldn’t tell if this was real, and acted accordingly.

“Hey, hey, Wanda! It’s okay, we’re getting out of here. It’s okay.”

 _It’s okay._ She kept that thought at the center of her mind, as they boarded the Quinjet, as Wanda curled up at the back of the plane, away from everyone and their thoughts.

It’s okay now. She would be okay.

 

* * *

 

Life was not returning to anything normal anytime soon, it seemed. They were fugitives, the Avengers were decimated, and the Accords were staying in place. It wasn’t a long stretch of stability, being an Avenger, having something that felt like home, but Wanda felt she missed it all the same.

Everyone reacted differently to the change.

Sam was their center, picking up the slack where Steve couldn’t. He was always good at sensing what people needed and when. For Wanda, that was the same ease he treated her with before everything happened. The smiles and jokes, the conversations they’d have over hot chocolate or something stronger, when the talks warranted it.

He was always the first one to make the friendly gesture, the opportunity for company if she wanted it. Wanda appreciated it, she always did.

Clint and Scott scrambled to keep their families safe, beyond the reach of Ross and the government.

Wanda’s heart went out to them both. Clint and his family, a small slice of normalcy that were now in the middle of everything because of Stark. Scott and his poorly concealed anger at the situation, at having to let his daughter down again.  

They had lives to return to, and people to care about. It hurt her to think of Clint missing Nathaniel Pietro’s first birthday, or Scott losing the little time he had with Cassie. Wanda was angry on their behalf, angry about the way one agreement destroyed so many lives.

She couldn’t exactly gauge Steve’s thoughts after they landed in Wakanda. He kept up that grim, determined persona of Captain the whole way, but anyone could see the cracks if they looked at the right time. Any time Steve was with Bucky, it was easy to spot

“If he wants, I can try to help. In removing the programming, I mean.” She offered quietly, once Bucky went back to sleep. She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but Steve didn’t seem mad.

“I didn’t want to ask. You’ve been through enough lately, Wanda.” She saw the concern in his expression, and she wasn’t entirely sure how to respond.

“He’s been through more. If I can use the powers HYDRA gave me to undo what they did to him, then I will. If that’s what he wants.”

Steve smiles, just barely. It’s more than she’s seen out of him since returning from Siberia.

“When he wakes up again, I’ll be sure to ask.”

* * *

 

T’Challa has given them refuge and a small section of the royal palace in which to reside, but he is still a king, and he has a country to run. Their host is gracious, but hardly seen.

They talk late one night, when Wanda sits up, watching the jungle outside the windows instead of sleeping. It has been a bad night.  

He doesn’t register at first but when it does set in, that she’s not alone,  she all but jumps out of her chair, surprise kicking her pulse into overdrive.

“Forgive me. I did not mean to startle you, Ms. Maximoff.” He is quiet and graceful, most likely a byproduct of his training as the Black Panther. She doesn’t know much about the tradition but she did see him fight Steve. Impressive to say the least.

She shakes her head, as if to say ‘don’t worry about it,’ but that seems impolite to say to a king.

He takes the seat adjacent to hers, and for a few minutes, they watch the view in silence. Long swaths of moonlight cast the jungle into sharp relief, dark shadows and pale light sliding over leaves and the sharp angles of the panther statue below. It is beautiful, in an eerie kind of way, and Wanda finds she likes it.

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty. For what happened in Lagos.” She says finally, breaking the silence. It is not enough, it will never be enough to make up for what she did. Another in a long list of things she’s done that will have no possible penance. The people she killed will haunt her, just as much as the phantom pain that wakes her in the night, the images of her brother, dead on the ground.

T’Challa does not respond at first, and Wanda worries she’s offended him.

“You did what you had to in order to protect people. It does not make up for the loss of my people, but I do know the casualties would have been worse, were you not there.”

It is not forgiveness, but it feels somewhat closer. The guilt that still pulls at her almost seems to ease.

When she finally sleeps, it is deep and dreamless, for the first time in months.

 


End file.
